Forever
by theconsultingtardisbananaangel
Summary: Clint and Natasha finally realize their affections for one another. But how will they deal with an accidental complication?
1. New Year's

"I thought I might find you up here." Clint's voice rose over the distant chatter and thumping of music a few floors below.

"You know me too well," mused Natasha, gazing out at the city below. It was shortly before midnight, and a party was raging in the Stark tower. Tony had thrown a giant New Year's bash, one that spanned seven floors of the tower. Every celebrity within a 100 mile radius was here. She took another delicate sip of rose from her champagne flute.

"Parties aren't exactly my thing either." Clint stood beside her now, taking in the view in the giant window.

"Too well," she repeated.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Nobody ever knows me that well. You're the first." She downed the rest of her drink. Clint took the empty flute from her and put it on a nearby table.

"Sit with me, Nat." Clint took her hand and pulled her to the floor. She complied absently. Downstairs, a count started up._ Fifty-nine, fifty-eight._

"I wish it was snowing." Clint could see something in her eyes that scared him slightly. She was always so composed, her expression dignified, hiding anything that could be perceived as vulnerability. One of the many side affects that came with the job.

"You miss Russia." He knew enough about this lifestyle to know the look of homesickness immediately.

"Yes." A pause. "It's already the new year there." _Twenty-two. Twenty-one._

"Can I kiss you?" The words slipped from his mouth before he had the chance to stop them. She looked so cold, so lonely, that it broke his heart. She turned her head sharply at him. _Eighteen, seventeen._

"Clint?" She spoke his name as both an answer and a question.

"Yeah?" _Seven, six, five_.

"I'm tired of being alone."

With that, she kissed him. Suddenly gravity stopped working. _Zero._ The people in the floors below shouted, and the first round of fireworks lit up the sky in brilliant reds and whites. It felt as if the whole world, or at least the whole city, was celebrating this moment. This kiss. Natasha. Him. Finally. She tasted like champagne and slightly of peppermint. He inhaled, exhaled, breathing her in. He opened his eyes slowly and pulled back. Natasha gazed back at him.

"I'll never let you feel alone again." Clint brought a calloused hand to the nape of her neck, ran his fingers through the base of her hair. He brought his hand to the front of her head, and guided her face to his once more. The fireworks were still going, in the sky and in the top floor of the tower where they sat, apart from the rest of the world. Something in his chest was aching. He draped his left arm around her waist, and her hand made its way up to his tie.

"Clint," Natasha breathed, their foreheads pressed together. "I..."

"Shhh. It's okay." His hands caressed her back, and he was reminded just how fragile she was under her muscular exterior. He traced each vertebra, savoring the feel of the bare skin exposed by her low-cut green dress. Natasha began to fumble with the tight knot of his tie. It came undone and she pulled it out of the collar slowly. She began to unbutton his shirt, and he gasped involuntarily, feeling bumps rise on his chest when she brushed her hands along them. He buried his head in her neck, overcome by the situation. The sound of the fireworks and the party below, the feel of her skin, her breath, her heartbeat, her warmth. Her. Clint was unable to do more than hold her as she pulled off his jacket and then his shirt. Her hands, upon finishing their task, rested around his neck. The fireworks reached their finale, and they sat, intertwined.

"Clint," she murmured, a little louder, and he looked up at her eyes. _Such pretty eyes_. The lights from the city illuminated half of her face as she watched him breathe. His hands, around her waist, trailed slowly upwards and he tugged on one of the green satin straps. Hers moved from his neck down to his chest, worrying one nipple with her thumb and then downwards, tracing the muscular V that seemed carved from stone. His whole body seemed hewn from marble, smooth and hard and solid.

"Nat- ahhhh." Clint groaned as her fingers played in the stripe of coarse blond hair running from his navel to his-

_Shit._

He gasped as every ounce of self-restraint fled south, and his eyes flew open to meet Natasha's, searching, asking. He loosened the other strap of her dress, and realized that she wasn't wearing a bra, her breasts fitting perfectly in the elegant green dress even without one. He felt himself growing more and more aroused. He growled and began to kiss her neck, and she let out a throaty laugh as he whimpered quietly.

"You're perfect," he mumbled into her neck, and he meant it. Natasha made a sound akin to a cat's purr, and began to work on the tuxedo's zipper. He could feel his penis straining against the fabric, and he lifted himself up a bit to allow the expensive fabric to be removed. She pulled off the pants, and admired his sculpted legs for a moment before returning for the red boxers. She maneuvered out of her dress, and now was clad only in her barely-there black thong.

"Fuck me." Natasha was panting for air.

"Oh, gladly." Clint smirked and growled hungrily before taking her in his arms and pinning her to the floor. He crawled on top of her, knees on either side of her perfect legs. He worked his way down her body, leaving a trail of red bite marks from her neck to her collarbone, over her left breast, across her stomach, before he reached the thin ribbon of fabric lying across her hipbone. He licked her thigh for a moment before taking the thong in his mouth and tearing it off her body. He lapped his tongue across her lower torso, and snapped the other side. Clint began moving forward until his face was gain at her neck.

"Nnnggghh." Natasha bit down on his earlobe. The heat was somehow growing warmer, and she needed his body so badly. But he took his time, sucking at her neck and whispering her name so quietly she thought he was imagining it. Finally he took his hands and gently spread her legs, tossing the torn thong across the room. The air was heavy with pheromones and anticipation. He ran his hand along her thigh, slipping his rough, calloused fingers between her legs, drawing a loud gasp from Natasha. He began to rub and massage, and soon his fingers were covered in a warm, wet fluid that he had a sudden desire to taste. He looked her in the eyes as he licked his fingers. She stared, heavy lidded, pupils dilated so far that he could barely see her irises.

"Natasha," he sighed once again.

"Please, Clint..." She was begging. "Please." Her eyes searched his desperately. His cock was aching for contact, for friction, but the fact that he had reduced her to this whimpering puddle made him want to draw the moment out as long as possible.

"Please what?" He grinned wickedly, amazed and surprised at himself. He definitely wasn't a virgin, but everything previously had been a quick, meaningless fuck. But now, he had total, absolute control over the person he loved more than anything. Christ, she was hot. "What do you want me to do, Natasha?"

"Make me scream," Natasha panted. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to enter her.

"How am I gonna do that?" Another groan.

"For god's sake, Clint. Enough." Suddenly, the trained martial artist in her, combined with the animal-like desire throbbing between her legs, took charge. She grabbed him and pulled his body to hers until he was the one whining, the tip of his cock grazing the white-hot pink flesh at the edge of her entrance. She pushed her hips up, knowing that there was no way he could resist now.

It worked.

Clint moaned and slid his full length inside of her.

"Nahhh..." He tried to remember how to say her name, but he was melting into her, and it faded into a moan. He pulled mostly out and then thrust again, softly and slowly at first. He removed himself completely and grasped her hips before slamming himself into her again as hard as he could. Natasha whimpered, and ached for more.

"Fuck..." Another thrust. Harder and harder they came, in perfect rhythm. She felt her muscles begin to tense as a ball of something not unlike molten lava gathered in the pit of her stomach.

"God. God. Natash...a...god." He was close, so close.

"CLINT!" Natasha screamed, and the world went white as her orgasm overtook her body. Clint grunted as he came, hard, and spilled his thick seed deep inside her. They both gasped for air, and Clint rolled off of her.

They lay like that for a while, melting together.

"Holy shit, Natasha."

"Yeah."

"There's a bedroom down the hall." Clint began to sit up.

"Nooo, stay here."

"I'll carry you." Natasha was too spent to protest farther, and allowed herself to be swept up, bridal-style, into his strong arms. She clung tightly to his body, imagining how they must look, wet and sweaty, completely naked, and Clint carrying her like a child. He reached the bed and pulled back the layers of thick blankets, laying Natasha down gently, before climbing into bed on the other side. He pulled the covers over both of them and clung to her tightly. They fell asleep curled together, and everything felt right.


	2. Time Flies

"Morning, sleepyhead." The sun streamed through the windows, magnified by the snow's bright light. Natasha gazed fondly at Clint, smiling warmly. Her hair was tousled, and pink bite marks were scattered across her neck and chest. He opened his eyes, watching her closely.

"I love waking up to your smile," he said quietly.

"Stop that," she said, blushing.

"I'm serious, Nat. You're beautiful."

"And you're horny." Natasha giggled.

"No I'm not!" Clint gasped, trying to look offended. Natasha hit him with her pillow.

"We're in Switzerland, Clint. We've been here for a week now and we haven't even left the lodge yet!"

"But I have all I need right here: a warm fire, no one to assasinate, a comfortable bed, good food, and..." Clint pretended to lose his train of thought. "Oh, and the love of my life."

"We should get out today. A week inside is nice, but-"

"We've been here for almost two weeks. Time sure flies when you're-" Natasha sat up suddenly, her face suddenly serious.

"Clint, what day is it?"

"January seventeenth."

"Shit." Natasha grabbed her dressing gown and ran into the bathroom, a trail of curses streaming out behind her. Clint was dumbfounded.

"You all right in there?" He slipped on a pair of boxers, some navy sweatpants, and a grey t-shirt before knocking gently on the bathroom door. Natasha opened the door slowly, her eyes wide.

"Clint?"

"Nat, is something wrong?" Clint was beginning to get quite worried.

"I don't know." She walked past him, into the hall, and stood there, looking quite dazed. Clint spun her around gently.

"What's going on?"

"My... my period is late. Really late." She looked away from him, watching the wall.

"Oh my god." Clint slid his hands down from her shoulders to her hands, taking them in his own.

"We used protection, right?" Natasha looked scared and confused, eyes darting around his face, not making eye contact.

"Yeah. Every time, Nat." Suddenly, something dawned on him.

"New Year's," they said, together. Natasha looked like a guilty puppy. Clint gave in to the sudden desire to wrap her in a tight bear hug.

"It's gonna be okay," he murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. He could feel her take a shuddering breath before starting to cry into his t-shirt. "Hey, hey, you're okay. What's the matter?" He lifted her up gently, and made his way into the living room. They lay on the couch, and he held Natasha as she cried. He rubbed her back, trying to comfort her as best as he could. Finally, after his shirt was thoroughly wet, she pulled a blanked up over herself, and laid her head on Clint's chest and stared at the fireplace.

"Clint..." Natasha sighed. "What if I'm..." The word hung, unspoken, between them.

"I don't know, Nat. I really don't."

"What am I gonna do, Clint?" Natasha looked at him now, eyes wide with fear and anxiety.

"We," he corrected her gently.

"I've never been more scared in my life, and I'm not even being held at gunpoint," she said. A laugh, replaced by a sob.

"Why?" Clint's chest hurt, seeing her so sad.

"Because, this... life... Every person I've ever loved has been ripped from me. Half of me expects someone lurking in every shadow, coming after you, too. And if I'm really... People can use that against me."

"We'll go back to the States. You'll see a doctor, and if he or she confirms...it, then I quit."

"Quit?"

"The life. I am going to take you away from New York. Somewhere away from danger. Hell, I'm pretty sure I could convince Tony to give us this lodge permanently. We could live here! It'll be all right. You'll see, Natasha." He kissed her forehead, and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'll call Pepper. Tell her to get us a plane." Natasha reached over Clint, to the end table, and grabbed the phone.

"Don't tell her why," he mouthed. She nodded.

"Hi, Pepper? Listen, this is Natasha. Are any of Tony's airplanes nearby?" A pause. "No, everything is fine. Clint's just getting kind of sick, and I want him to see a doctor." Clint scowled at her. "Two hours? Awesome. Hey, Pepper. Thanks for everything."

"I'm making myself some coffee." Clint sat up.

"Make me some."

"Nope. No coffee for you. I'll make you some cocoa. You can get changed, and then we'll pack."

"Fine. Oh, make it with milk, not water."

"For you, darling, anything." Clint kissed her hand and bowed deeply. Natasha giggled.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Okay. Then I'm going to take a shower. And you-" she whispered in his ear- "are gonna join me."

"Oh, god, yes."


	3. Things Change So Damn Quickly

**Note: Most of my knowledge about the following subject matter comes from Lifetime movies and health class, so it may not be 100% accurate. **

Natasha was taking a really long time in the bathroom. Too long. Clint walked across the airplane, one of Tony Stark's finest, to the other end, where the bathroom was located. Natasha hadn't bothered to close the door, and she was standing in full view of him. Her sweatshirt was pulled up above her stomach, one hand resting on the flawless surface, and she was looking at it in the mirror, obviously wondering about...

"Are you okay?"

Natasha jumped, and let out a small yelp. She hastily yanked her sweatshirt down to cover her stomach again.

"You scared the crap out of me, Clint."

"Sorry." He smiled sheepishly.

"You don't have to ask me if I'm okay every five minutes just because I might be..." She gestured to the general vincinity of the hoodie's pocket. Clint blushed and looked away.

"Uh, right, sorry. I just worry about you."

"You're such a little girl." She smiled fondly at him, and he felt as if a magnet propelled him towards her. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in her scent, her warmth. Then, there was a hand on his waist, and one in his shirt, and she was kissing him.

"Nope. Not a girl," he mumbled, as he felt himself grow hard.

"Who cares?" Natasha stepped backwards and sat on the counter top, pulling Clint towards her. Every cell in his body screamed_ Natasha sex yes good_ but he forced himself to stop.

"Tasha, we can't do this now."

"On an airplane?" She looked confused and a bit hurt.

"No. We don't know if it's safe... you know... your condition?" He touched her stomach.

"Condition, Clint? We've been fucking like rabbits for weeks."

"Yeah, but..."

"We just had sex in the shower."

"I didn't actually, um... You know..." Clint found this whole business very, very awkward. Fortunately, they were soon interrupted.

"Uh, hello? Agent Romanoff? Agent Barton?" They heard the voice of the co-pilot in the cabin.

"Well, that settles it. No sex. Unless you wanna invite him for a threesome..." Clint wiggled his eyebrows and Natasha stuck out her tongue at him.

"Gross." She rolled her eyes. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him close again.

"Tasha..."

"Please?"

They broke apart at a knock on the door, but airplane bathrooms are small, and they didn't go very far.

"Er, excuse me, but we'll be landing shortly, and you need to wear your seat belts."

"Seat belts? Is something wrong with the plane?" Clint took Natasha's hand automatically.

"It's just the law, stupid. Quit worrying." But he held tight to her hand nonetheless.

A few hours (and quite a few inquiries on Natasha's health from Clint) later, and they were in the waiting room of a woman's hospital. A young doctor came out and looked at her clipboard.

"Natasha...Romanoff?"

"Yes, that's me." Natasha smiled to cover up her nerves.

"And you're Mr. Romanoff?" The doctor looked at Clint.

"He wishes," scoffed Natasha.

"All right, then, you can come on back, Natasha," she said. Clint stood up immediately, offering his hand to Natasha, who rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Clint, she's not going to kidnap me."

"Just Natasha for now. Normally we allow the husband, but-"

"I come or nobody goes," demanded Clint, crossing his arms.

"She's a gynecologist, not an assassin!" Natasha hissed to him.

"It's my baby too," Clint whined. The word 'baby' made her muscles tense, and he immediately regretted it.

"Which may not actually be a baby. He can come back if it's okay with you, ma'am." The doctor pointedly drummed her fingers on the clipboard.

"Honestly, if I say no, we'll be arguing for the whole nine months. He can come." Clint looked visibly relieved. The doctor led them into a small room. She handed Natasha a paper blue gown.

"The nurse will be in soon to take your height, weight, blood pressure, all that fun stuff. When you're finished changing, there's a bathroom down the hall for a urine sample." She handed a sealed, sterilized jar to Clint and left the room. Clint stared at the jar. _ROMANOFF, N. PREGNANCY TEST_. Weird.

"I'll be needing that." Natasha held out her hand for the container.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Natasha wanted to tape his mouth shut, but upon seeing the look of genuine concern on Clint's face, she knew that he was just as nervous as she was.

"Clint," she began, "I have been kidnapped, beaten, tortured, and/or taken hostage so many times I stopped keeping track." She leaned down and kissed him briefly on the lips. "I think I can survive a urine test."

"Nat, I meant... I meant, are you all right with..." He gestured to the wall, where a poster hung, depicting an unborn baby's development from conception to nine months.

"I don't know, Clint," she replied quietly. "I just don't know." She inhaled deeply, adjusted her posture, and steeled herself for what might come next. Clint watched her as she walked down the hall. She threw him a weak smile before closing the door behind her. Clint paged through the brochures on the table next to him. The leaflets' titles reminded Clint exactly how huge the situation was.

_Nutrition During Pregnancy: Making The Right Choices For You And Baby_

_Guide To Your Changing Body_

_Growing A Baby_

_Becoming A Mother_

_Complications During Birth And How To Prevent Them_

Clint suddenly felt very overwhelmed. There was so much to learn. So much to take in. So much that could go wrong. He felt a huge rush of affection for Natasha then, and it took his breath away. He took her abandoned sweatshirt and buried his face in it, hoping that her scent would calm him.

"Oh my god, Clint. What's the matter?" Natasha returned to the sight of him clutching the sweatshirt like a security blanket, almost hyperventilating. She took one look at the brochures now lying askew on the table, and knew exactly what was wrong. She set the now full sample container on the counter and sat on the chair next to him. "Clint? Look at me, love." She placed a hand on his knee.

"Is this really happening?" Clint's voice sounded like a scared young child as he searched Natasha's eyes.

"Hey, it's okay. Even if I am pregnant- which I might not be- it'll be okay. I promise, Clint."

"Promise me you'll be okay."

"Having a baby is the most natural thing in the world," she reassured him. "There are seven billion people on this planet, Clint, and they all had mothers. But none of them ever had the advantage of a father like you."

"It's all just happened so fast. A month ago, the word 'uterus' had absolutely no relevance to my life." Clint's brows were knit together.

"Please don't ever say that to me again."

"What?"

"That word. The 'U' word. It's gross." Natasha wrinkled her nose, reminding Clint of a pet rabbit he had had as a child. "For all we know, there's nothing in here." Her hand went to her stomach. Clint's large hand covered hers. "Schrodinger's womb," she laughed.

"What?" Clint raised his eyebrows.

"Never mind."

"So you can use the 'W' word, but I can't say-"

"Don't!" Natasha shrieked. "They're both disgusting." There was a knock on the door.

"Miss Romanoff? A middle-aged nurse entered the room, looking at her clipboard. "Oh, and is this Mister Romanoff?" Natasha glanced at Clint.

"No, he's just Clint."

"I'm the father." Clint looked proudly at Natasha.

"Well, we don't know for sure if she's knocked up yet." The nurse waved a hand at Natasha, who turned a deep red and folded her arms across her stomach in a gesture that was at once embarrassed, self-conscious, and protective. "And we ain't never gonna find out if you don't let me process that piss." Clint decided at once that he did not like her. He clasped his hands together to keep himself from slapping the stupid bitch across the face.

"Don't talk to my Natasha like that," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"It's all right, Clint," she reassured. To the nurse, she said, "He's just possessive." The nurse, looking vaguely frightened, took the sample and left the room. She turned to Clint. "What the _hell_ was that about?"

"She made you sound like a whore, Tasha."

"No, she didn't. She just spoke in a rather uneducated manner."

"Fine."

"Natasha Romanoff?" A different nurse came in to the room. "And, uh, Mr. Romanoff?"

"No, we're not actually married," Natasha said.

"I'm the father," Clint said to no one in particular.

"Thanks to a new technology, we can have your hormone results within the hour. In the meantime, though, I'm going to check vitals. If you could come over to the scale..." The measurements allowed both of them to calm down some. They had both gone through these several dozen times. Natasha was at a healthy weight, and she was the same height as normal. No surprise there, thought Clint. Then the nurse fastened the cuff around her arm and put a thermometer over her wrist. She looked slightly concerned at the results.

"What's the matter?" Clint asked.

"Natasha has a very low blood pressure for somebody of her size. But that's it for vitals. The doctor will be in shortly to ask some questions."

"Do you think I passed?" Natasha joked.

"Not funny, Nat."

"Lighten up, Legolas. I'm the one who just had my arm squeezed to death."

"If I could do it for you, I would in an instant." Again, Natasha was growing annoyed, but upon seeing his face, she knew that he really would.

"I'll do the blood pressure tests if you go through childbirth. Heard it's some scary shit."

"You're not helping."

"God, Clint, relax. Your leg is probably going to fall off if you keep that up."

"What?" _Ah_. His leg was bouncing up and down very quickly. "Whoops." He stopped. "It's just, we were in Switzerland this morning and now...this."

"Christ." Natasha shook her head. "I'm exhausted. It's been ages since we slept."

"Stupid time zones."

"Yeah." The room was enveloped in a silence which was not altogether unpleasant.

"I love you, Natasha Romanoff." Clint spoke softly.

"Where the hell is that doctor?" Natasha said simultaneously, completely missing his sentiments.

"Speak of the devil." There was a knock on the door, and the doctor returned again.

"Interrogation time!" The woman laughed. Clint and Natasha exchanged a _you-have-no-idea-mere-civilian_ look.

"So. Let's start with the basics. When was your last menstruation?" Clint shifted uncomfortably.

"Last month, on the thirteenth or fourteenth."

"Have you ever missed a cycle before?"

Clint didn't consider himself to be squeamish, but for god's sake...

"Not once."

"Well, that in itself is quite telling." The doctor smiled. Natasha swallowed.

"That's why I'm here."

"And do you know when you might have conceived?"

"New Year's." Clint answered for her.

"Then you won't be very far along. But we will still be able to tell, once the hormones are tested."

"So, where would I be, on that chart there?" Natasha pointed to the poster covered in pictures of babies.

"Right in here somewhere." She pointed at an illustration of a cluster of cells. Clint began to feel sick. He stared at the fluorescent light panels and tried not to think of what might or might not be growing inside of Natasha.

"So, have you had any alcohol or narcotics since then? Painkillers? Prescriptions? Cigarettes?"

"I took some melatonin to help me sleep, but that's it. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, the body produces a form of melatonin on its own, so it won't harm your baby." Clint closed his eyes.

"Anything caffeinated?"

"No, I almost never have caffeine."

"And what do you do for a living?"

"Oh, uh, I'm an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D."

The doctor tilted her head. "Shield?"

"Have you heard of the Avengers? The superheroes who saved the city from sibling rivalry gone too far?"

"Oh, yeah. Them. I was at a seminar in Canada, so I'm afraid I missed the excitement. So what exactly do you do?"

"I'm, uh, an assassin and a spy. So is he." The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Well. That is going to need to stop for a while."

"Yeah, we figured."

"Have you ever been pregnant before?"

"God, no. With my schedule? The closest I've come is being in the same room as a child."

"Have you ever been sexually assaulted?"

"Yes. While being held ransom by a group of terrorists, I was repeatedly raped."

"You _what_?" Clint stared at her. "Tasha, why didn't you tell me?"

"I broke my arm in Sudan, an ankle in Brazil. It just comes with the job."

"Holy shit. It's not the same thing. Oh, Nat..." Clint's chest ached. The doctor cleared her throat.

"Did you suffer any damage as a result of these attacks?"

"No."

"Have you had any food with bean sprouts?"

The rest of the questions passed in a blur. Clint was really, really, tired, and it was so much to take in. Finally, the rude nurse from earlier returned with a folded sheet of paper. Clint squeezed Natasha's hand. The nurse left quickly, obviously still scared from their early encounter. The doctor smiled. It was clear that she never grew tired of this moment. She unfolded the paper. Clint held his breath. He had no idea what he wanted the results to be. Natasha took a deep breath.

"Well, Natasha, I'd find a hobby if I were you, because you're not going to be back in the field for a while."

"What?" Natasha breathed.

"I suggest crocheting. Great for making baby clothes." Natasha turned to Clint, her eyes a mixture of fear and excitement. Clint smiled. Natasha threw her arms around him, and he held her close. The paper gown crinkled. Clint had never been happier in his entire life. The doctor was saying something about folic acid.

Nobody was listening.


	4. Why The Hell Would We Have Papayas?

Clint woke up to a loud crash in the kitchen. Ever since they had returned from their brief vacation in Switzerland, Natasha had been restless at night and tired during the day. Clint was worried, but then again, he did little else lately. He sat up, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he neared the kitchen, he could hear her singing. He stopped for a moment. She was a really, really good singer. He couldn't quite make out the words. Wait, it wasn't English. Russian, probably. Sounded like a lullaby. The melody reached the end, and the room was quiet again.

"Tasha?"

She turned around and smiled."Good look on you." She reached up and ruffled his hair. Clint looked down. He was wearing a wrinkled undershirt and a pair of plaid purple boxers. One black ankle sock covered his right foot, and blonde stubble covered his face.

"You were singing."

"I couldn't sleep. I really wanted some papayas, but we don't have any."

"Papayas? Why the hell would we buy papayas?"

"I can't stop thinking about them."

"Oh my god, Nat. You're getting cravings." Clint grinned. "Isn't it a bit early for that?"

"I dunno."

"Christ, you're adorable." And she was. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wore one of Clint's Def Leppard shirts that came down to her mid-thigh.

"You're one to talk."

"Is there something else I can make for you? Something normal?"

"Pancakes."

"Pancakes. Yes. That's normal. Uh, flour. And butter. And sugar."

"Can you even cook?"

"No. Not in the least." Clint grinned like a little kid about to teach his younger brother how to steal cookies from the top shelf. Mischievous and exuberant. "It'll be fun."

"Cookbook." Natasha handed him a thick blue volume.

"Where'd I get a cookbook?" Clint stared at it.

"You tell me, it's your place."

"_Our_ place, Tash."

"Our place." Natasha tasted the words. "I like that." She kissed him, and he couldn't resist her warmth. He placed a hand on her hip, and she smiled through the kiss. Her hand traced the elastic rim of his boxers, and he moaned before pushing her gently away.

"Natasha. You know I'm not going to-"

"Please? It'll make me feel better."

"When we go back for your follow-up, you can ask Dr. Whatever-"

"-Dr. Lynn Jacobson-"

"-Dr. Whatever if it's safe then."

"No, I have an idea. I'll call her now."

"It's not office hours, Tash, and just because you're horny-"

"I have her cell. She works for a hospital owned by one of Tony's subsidiaries."

"Natasha," Clint sighed. "You can't just blackmail people into doing the things you want because they work for Stark."

"Watch me." Natasha took her cell phone from where it was plugged into the wall outlet, and dialed some numbers.

"Seriously, Tasha..."

"She's the only thing standing in between me and your body. So I am going to blackmail her." The phone connected. Clint rubbed his temples.

"Fine."

"Hi, Dr. Jacobson? This is Natasha Romanoff. I'm one of your patients. Yes, I realize it is two thirty in the morning. Yes, I am good friends with Mr. Stark. I saved his life a few times. No, not recently, before I was pregnant." Natasha rolled her eyes at Clint. "I'm going to put Mr. Romanoff on now. He wont let himself fuck me until you tell him it's safe." Clint turned red as Natasha handed him the phone.

"Look, Doctor Jacobs-"

"Jacobson," whispered Natasha.

"Jacobson, I'm really sorry about all this-"

"Clint, you can fuck your girlfriend. Goodnight. Good morning, rather." Dr. Jacobson hung up the phone.

"Well?" Natasha crossed her arms. "What did she say?"

Clint didn't bother to answer. He picked up Natasha, ignoring her squeals of protest, and laid her in bed.

"She said yes."

"Good." Natasha looked up at him through her eyebrows seductively.

"I'm going to be gentle, though," he warned.

"Fine," sighed Natasha dramatically. "Just get on with it."

He did. Gently, he pulled his shirt off, and began to kiss her neck, trying to go slow, but felt his resolve fade away when Natasha growled possessiveness and bit his ear. He allowed her to take over, and soon he was on his back, watching Natasha, on top of him, remove her shirt-_for Christ's sake that's hot_- and finally her underwear, tossing them to the side of the bed before pulling off Clint's boxers. Now the only clothing left was Clint's one black sock. He needed her, needed her body, her warmth, her soul-

"Uhhhnnn." He groaned, throwing his head back as Natasha straddled him. She clung to his hips as she pushed him inside of her. Clint reached one hand around her waist, and the other grabbed a fistful of the cotton sheets. Natasha began to move herself up and down. She moaned in pleasure every time her body collided with Clint's and he gasped as the sensation filled his senses. Unable to contain himself, he sat up and crawled on top of her, entering her again. Natasha's eyes, pupils wide and unfocused, looked absolutely feral. She screamed as she came, digging her fingernails into Clint's back. The noise pushed him over the edge, and he clung to her desperately as he rode out his climax.

"It's been too long."

"It's been like a month, Tasha." Clint allowed himself to be guided under the covers.

"Too long."

"How the hell do you ever survive a long mission, then?"

"I use my hands." Clint could feel himself blushing in the dark.

"That was a rhetorical question." He wove his arms around her back. She kissed his chest.

"Hey, Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"In the morning, can we go buy some papayas?"


	5. Dinner At The Stark-Rogers Household

"And she'd been hiding in the bathroom the entire time!" The people gathered around the table broke into fits of laughter. Tony Stark beamed. He was in his element: slightly tipsy (okay, more than slightly), surrounded by friends (also more than slightly tipsy), and making people laugh. He and Steve had called together their closest friends so that they could make an announcement, but as the champagne flowed fast and conversation flowed faster, he had almost forgotten the reason for the party.

"You noble men and fair women are as family to me!" Thor slammed his cup down. Tony looked around. It was true. Everyone at the table got along perfectly, and Tony realized that most of them really didn't have family. As the laughter from his last story died down, he stood on his chair and tapped his glass for silence.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've gathered you all here today," he said, perfectly imitating Fury's deep voice and drawing more laughter. Steve Rogers muttered something under his breath and hid his face.

"Tony, please get off your chair. You are going to fall off." Bruce Banner, one of the three sober parties at the party (he was afraid of a drunken brawl and a muscular green thing), called out. Steve, the second (he physically could not become intoxicated), grabbed Tony around the waist and set him on the floor, taking the chair away before he could climb back up.

"Well. Two reasons. One, to celebrate the inevitable relationship between our good friends Natasha-" Natasha, the last sober person (for reasons unknown to the rest of the table), groaned and rolled her eyes- "and Clint!" Clint stood up and bowed deeply. Pepper squealed and threw her arms around Natasha.

"And the second reason-" Tony didn't bother waiting for the noise to die down this time- "Is that Steve and I are becoming fathers!" Thor got up and clapped Steve on the back. More cheers from around the table. Natasha was relieved that everyone's attention was finally away from her.

"What a joyous occasion! We must celebrate!" Thundered the God of Thunder.

"That's we're doing, dumbass." Clint rolled his eyes.

"His name is Peter," continued Tony, "and he showed up on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar shortly before his parents were killed."

"Apparently, he has 'uncanny abilities'," added Steve.

"Uncanny, huh? He'll fit right in." Bruce smiled. "We could start recruiting the next generation of Avengers."

"Avengers: The Next Generation! That sounds like something from a comic book," said Tony.

"You can't have a 'next generation' with only one kid," Steve pointed out.

"Good thing there'll be two," said Clint. Natasha looked at him, shocked. Steve broke out in a smile, but everyone else looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Clint..." Natasha sighed. This was not how she had imagined announcing her pregnancy to her friends. They had only just heard that she was with Clint. And now he seemed to be signing her baby up for the same life she had.

"I do not understand," said Thor.

"Natasha is..." Clint began.

"We're expecting a baby," she interjected, not willing to hear the way a drunken Clint might phrase it. Pepper hugged her again.

"That was fast," said Tony. Natasha glared at him, a hand on her still-flat stomach. "You've only been together since New Year's!"

"How the hell does he know that?" Natasha hissed at Clint.

"First of all, JARVIS, we _were_ in his tower, and second of all, why d'you think he let us have his Swiss chalet?"

"If JARVIS was a person, I'd kick him in the balls," muttered Natasha darkly.

"THE OCCASION IS FILLED WITH MUCH JOY!" Thor seemed on the verge of tears.

"Okay, buddy. You're plastered." Bruce rolled his eyes and took Thor's glass away before he could pour himself another drink. "Congrats, guys."

"So how about you, Bruce? Seeing anyone with mother potential?" Natasha tried her best to make normal conversation among the surrounding chaos.

"No, just me. I don't want to risk passing on any mutations to a child." Natasha blinked sympathetically.

"I think you would have made a really good father, Bruce."

"Yeah, me too." He blinked, startled by her remark. He had expected her to say something along the lines of _How sad_ or _You must be devastated_.

"Will you be our baby's godfather?" Natasha blurted out. Bruce smiled.

"I'd love to."

"What a joyous occasion!" Thor piped up again.

"We know, dude." Natasha shook her head at Bruce.

"I myself am courting someone."

"Awesome. Who's the lucky girl?" Clint absentmindedly took a bite of something left on Natasha's plate.

"Nay, there is no maiden. My beau is a brave warrior."

"Whoah. I did not see that coming," said Steve.

"When we have children, they shall join the next generation on their quests! They will have my physical strength and golden heart along with their father's wit and charm."

"Dude, you're both guys. Nobody's gonna inherit anything," interjected Tony.

"My beloved was born of a race comprised only of males. Therefore, he can bear children."

"I wish we had that advantage," Steve muttered to Tony, who nodded.

"Tash, I think we're the only normal couple here."

"There's nothing normal about any of us."

"Very true."


	6. Of Baby Clothes And Orange Drinks

It was a sunny morning for early March, and the sun streamed through the windows. Clint sipped his coffee and read the paper (DAZZLING NIGHT AT THE OSCARS!), while Natasha pretended to drink her hot chocolate. Nothing would stay down, but she tried to hide her frequent bouts of nausea from Clint as well as she could. His constant worrying and questions had annoyed her at first, but she had realized that she would be doing the same thing had the roles been reversed. She massaged her stomach, which was just beginning to poke out over her hips, in hopes that the queasiness would die down.

No such luck. Natasha sighed, hoping to make the bathroom this time. "Be right back," she told Clint, stooping to kiss his forehead before tearing down to the bathroom. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that he wasn't fooled in the least. But she was too busy retching violently to think of much else. She barely noticed when a pair of cool hands gently swept her hair out of the way. When she was finished, she flushed the toilet and moved back, leaning against the bath tub. She felt too weak to stand up. Clint sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulder.

"You're burning up," he said, clearly concerned.

"It's just the morning sickness," she said, having no idea if this was at all true.

"Let me take you back to bed for a while. I'll bring a book and you can rest up." Natasha was too tired to protest.

"Can you help me up? I need some mouthwash."

"Oh. Right." Natasha hated how helpless she was, but thanked a god that she didn't believe in for Clint's company. He stood up and leaned over her, one arm moving to her upper back, the other around the waist. He lifted her up tenderly, and supported her as her legs trembled. He brought the mouthwash, which he had bought specifically without any weird chemicals, to her mouth, and lifted a cup to her lips afterward for her to spit. She was completely and utterly exhausted, and Clint knew it. He helped her to the bed, drawing up the wrinkled bed sheets over her body. He grabbed every blanket he could find and wrapped her listless form in them until she was as warm as possible. He crawled under the corner of an over sized down blanket, snuggling up to her.

"I'm so sorry, Nat," he murmured, almost to himself.

"For what?" She didn't open her eyes.

"Putting you in this state." His chest started hurting again.

"How many times do I have to say this, Clint? It's my fault too. Quit apologizing."

"I hate seeing you so weak."

"Me too." Natasha reached an arm out from her warm cocoon and caressed his face, not quite able to process the emotions in her heart. So she decided to mother him instead. "Clint, you're freezing. Come into my nest."

"No, it's yours," he protested.

"And you'll warm me up even more. Please, Clint?" She put on her best suffering-puppy face and he obliged, rebuilding the cocoon to fit both of them.

"You were burning up a second ago!" Clint exclaimed. Natasha was cold to the touch now.

"Morning sickness does that," she improvised. "You're good at nests." Changing the subject worked incredibly well with Clint, she had discovered.

"I am Hawkeye, after all." This drew a ghost of a smile from Natasha. "I spoke with Steve earlier. He wants you to go with him to pick out some clothes for Peter. And maybe some for our baby, too."

"We don't know what gender the baby is yet."

"Buy yellow and green."

"You don't want to come?"

"Can you imagine me buying baby clothes?" No, she couldn't. "Besides, aren't gay guys supposed to love that sort of thing?"

"I guess."

"Then you rest this morning, and go this afternoon." Natasha didn't bother to be annoyed at his directing. They lay in silence for a few minutes, Natasha clinging to Clint for warmth and comfort, Clint subconciously trying to apologize through gentle gestures.

"I can feel the baby sometimes," she said quietly. "If I exhale and don't breathe in for a few seconds."

"What's it like?" She loved feeling his chest vibrate as he spoke.

"It's like..." Natasha struggled to come up with the proper words. "It's like finding a piece of you that you never missed until you found it, and now you're complete."

"I feel that way too. Every time I wake up to see you lying next to me, that's exactly how I feel." He moved his hand until it rested on the swell of her stomach. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I love you, Clint," she replied simply.

"I love you, Tash."

"Hey, you ready?" Steve Rogers stood at the door of their apartment, looking past Clint to Natasha. The rest had done her wonders, the pale weakness all but vanished, leaving a warm, happy glow in its place.

"Don't try anything funny, Rogers," warned Clint, not joking.

"Clint, calm down." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not exactly his area." A quick kiss on the cheek as she pulled on her coat. "But if you're getting drinks with Tony..." She was half kidding.

"He wouldn't dare." Steve smiled. "Besides, he'd have the two of us to answer to if he tried anything, and he likes having all four limbs."

"I'll punch him in the jaw if he does anything," added Clint, not willing to be undone.

"You better." Natasha kissed him goodbye again.

"Nothing too cutesy."

"Roger that."

"D'you like this one?" They were at the mall, having worked their way through Macy's and Carter's. They were now at a store called The Children's Place. Steve held up a small Batman tee.

"Superheroes. Nice. I'm sure he'll appreciate the irony."

"Yes, but Batman is made up, and we're real. Besides, I don't think that's actually irony, and furthermore, he's too young to understand that stuff."

"Have you guys met him yet?" Natasha placed a pair of incredibly tiny socks decorated with even tinier elephants in their basket.

"Yes. We take him out every Sunday, until the adoption is finalized. We usually go to the zoo. He likes the monkeys. And strawberry ice cream." Steve was clearly quite fond of the boy. "He's grieving." He squinted, contemplating which size to buy, and finally went for the bigger of the two, so Peter could grow into it. "I'm so scared that we won't be good enough."

"Steve," said Natasha, placing a hand on his arm and looking him in the eye. "You will never replace the Parkers, but you'll be perfect, if different, parents."

"He just seems to be so cheerful, but when he thinks we're not looking, he's so sad."

"I can imagine."

"He has such a large personality for someone his age. It's astounding."

"Just imagine what he'll be like when he grows up."

"Yeah."

"You'll be fine. We'll all learn together."

"Thanks, Natasha. I look forward to it." He smiled fondly at her.

"Um, I need to use the bathroom again. Could you check out?" She grinned apologetically. "It's the baby."

"Right. Sure. Uh, take your time." He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable.

"What is it with men and pregnancy?" Natasha asked herself as she left the store.

"Let's stop by the... Whatever you call it... Food..." Steve was drawing a blank.

"Food court?" Natasha supplied.

"That's it. You must be hungry." Steve nodded at her subtly curved stomach.

"Yes. I'm famished."

"What's an 'Orange Julius'?" They were nearing the food court.

"I think it's kind of like a creamsicle in a drink or something."

"Do you think it's safe?"

"We have a chart at home with everything that I can't eat, plus things I should eat more of. And I think oranges fall into the second category. Lots of Vitamin C."

"Okay." They reached the stand, and began to look over the choices. Steve, ever the gentleman, held the bags, and Natasha's hand rested on the top of her stomach as she weighed the relative merits of a medium and a large.

"Can I help you?" A bored-looking teenager twirled her hair.

"Yes, I'll have a large orange julius," said Steve.

"And for your wife?"

"I'll take a large orange julius too. This baby eats like a wolf." Neither Steve nor Natasha cared enough to correct the teenager's assumption, and Natasha's statement about her baby's appetite didn't exactly clear things up.

"Right." The teenager, looking vaguely disgusted at the thought of a baby, pressed some buttons in the cash register. Steve handed her his debit card, and soon they were sitting at the table.

"It's funny when people think we're a couple." Natasha sipped at her shake, glad to rest her sore feet.

"Hey, we look like one. A man and an attractive young woman who is with child, and shopping bags filled with baby clothes? Not exactly an odd picture."

"We'd make one hell of a cute couple."

"Right, once you get past the whole Steve-is-gay-for-Iron-Man-and-Natasha-is-carrying-somebody-else's-baby thing."

"True." They sat in silence, sipping their shakes.

"Parents, though," said Steve, shaking his head. "Isn't it absurd?" Natasha smiled.

"You're telling me." They both began to laugh, because they were young and happy and carefree, because they were having children, and because it was so easy.

"I'm done with my shake," said Natasha after a bit. Steve still had half of his left. He raised his eyebrows.

"Now who's eating like a wolf?"

"Shut up. I have to feed a baby too."

"Kidding, kidding. Hey, do you think Lacoste has kid's clothes? I like the little alligators."


	7. Time To Come Clean

**Author's Note: This may be a trigger for some people, so tread with caution.**

After dropping Natasha back at hers and Clint's, Steve said goodbye, taking the bags which held his purchases and handing the baby things to Natasha. He had insisted on walking her to the door, but he was clearly itching to get back to Tony. Natasha set her bags down and fumbled with her key. Clint was in the kitchen, frying something that smelled fantastic. At the sound of the door, he put down his spatula and rushed to assist her.

"Holy hell, Tasha, did you leave anything for the other babies?" He smiled and kissed her gently on the forehead, taking the bags.

"Nope." She headed for the bathroom, bladder full again. Clint watched her go down the hall before returning to the kitchen to check on the hamburgers. He had been slowly teaching himself to cook over the past few months, between caring for Natasha and sleeping and basic chores. He set the bags on the kitchen table, not noticing that one fell over and spilled its contents across the floor. He heard Natasha turn on the shower, and he sang to himself as the hamburgers finished cooking. Turning down the burner, he let them cook on low for a bit, and went to set the table, taking the bags to the hallway. On his way back in, he noticed the clothes he had knocked over earlier, and sat in the chair to pick them up.

"These are fucking itiny/i," he said, looking at a little yellow onesie. The other clothes seemed to be doll-sized, and he shook his head to remind himself that this was real, that Natasha was going to give birth in roughly six months, that he was soon to be a father.

A father.

He tried to avoid the word, as it reminded him of his own. He tried to never think of the man, as it brought back unbearable memories. But the memories rushed forth, hidden below the surface for so much of the time that when they were uncovered, they were strong as hell. Empty beer bottles scattered around the house. Bills left unpaid. An unwashed man snoring in a recliner. Crashes, screaming, fists. Always the fists, telling him that he was a disgrace, worthless, stupid, a burden. Clint balled up the little yellow outfit in his own fist. He held it to his chest, as more memories came back. His mother's funeral. A belt. Stealing makeup from girls' lockers before basketball practice to cover up the nasty purple bruises and welts. Lying to a concerned school nurse. Telling anyone who asked that he was clumsy and bruised easily. Pretending to need glasses despite his flawless vision. His father ripping up more bills, landing another punch, throwing another beer bottle.

iHow the hell am I going to handle a baby of my own?/I

The bottoms of the hamburgers started to burn, left in the sizzling pan for too long. Clint closed his eyes, rocking back and forth, silently running through lists of things he memorized in school. Multiplication tables, the Periodic table, geometry theorems that all ran together. He was crying now. He remembered the time a beer bottle broke upon hitting his chest, remembered removing the tiny pieces of glass from the bloody tissue with a butter knife. Remembered the day that his mother had been gone for a year, remembered his father taking off his belt and screaming at him, remembered the sickening crunch as the belt buckle hit the fingers that shielded his face. Remembered taping the fingers up afterwards. He was so young, setting his own bones in the bathroom after his father finally slept.

Clint.

Remembered the broomstick hitting the backs of his legs. Remembered being whipped again and again and again. Remembered trying not to howl in agony as he put on a shirt and jacket and then a backpack over the raw, exposed flesh of his back.

Clint!

Remembered the time he had a poor report card. Remembered when his father saw it and punched him in the mouth. Remembered being grateful that he still had another set of teeth coming in, that it was normal for first graders to loose a few teeth here and there.

"Clint! You're scaring me!"

He blinked. The voice wasn't his father's. A girl's voice. A woman's. No, not his mother's, either. Natasha's. He stared at her, throat raw, face wet, clutching the yellow pajamas to his chest. Smelled the burning hamburgers. Natasha took his head in her hands, then pulled a chair around the table to sit across from him. She gently pried the wrinkled garment from his tight grip, held his hand. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. When he looked up again, he flinched at the sight of Natasha's upset face. Another warm tear squeezed out and ran down his face. Natasha took his head in her hand and brushed it away gently with her thumb. He covered her hand with his, not wanting her to remove it. She gently moved herself into his lap, and threw her free arm around him. He cried into her shoulder for a while, until he couldn't anymore. Finally, he pulled out of the embrace, and Natasha looked at him as if to say _When you want to talk, I'm right here._ He smiled weakly, and brushed her hair out of her face and behind her ear. They watched each other in silence for a while.

"I hope you like your hamburgers well done," he said finally, and she smiled, standing up, one hand laid over her slightly raised bump. She poked at the lumps of meat cautiously, the way she used to gingerly inspect a loaded explosive.

"No way, man. They're charcoal."

"I'll call for a pizza delivery."

"Make it Chinese. The baby wants broccoli."

"What about the MSGs or whatever they're called? The chart says-"

"Bruce found a few places that cook everything organically, weird chemical free."

"Just for us?"

"No, he doesn't let himself eat much junk food. He gave me a list of good restaurants that are safe for babies."

"Wow."

"Everyone's really supportive, Clint. It's going to be okay."

"I know..."

"I am going to order a shit ton of food, and when it comes, you and I are going to sit in the living room and tell each other everything that we might have forgotten to mention previously."

"Okay. Will you get the sesame tofu? It's my favorite."

"I know. We had Chinese food that one time after the whole Central Park kidnapping thing. You ordered sesame tofu and Tony made fun of you for not getting real meat and you said you got the tofu because it stayed really warm inside and the leftovers didn't taste weird-" She stopped short when she realized that Clint was staring at her.

"You've got a good memory."

"I guess. I think I was just so lonely then that I picked up every detail I could whenever I was around people." Natasha's stomach growled loudly. Clint grinned.

"Why don't you call in the order? That baby eats more than Thor."

"Okay."

Clint found himself watching her move again. She was dressed in his clothing, as it fit her better than her own now. Her hair, wet from her shower, made a damp circle around the top of his wool sweater. Beads of moisture clung to the holes in the fabric, making it sparkle slightly as she placed their order. A bit of frothy shaving cream on her thigh caught the edge of his favorite boxers as she walked around the room, and the hem was spotted with the white foam. She put away the rest of the baby clothes, knowing that Clint probably wasn't in the best state to deal with them. The silent understandings, thought Clint, were one of the things that made them so compatible. A perfect couple. He threw away the ruined hamburgers, cleaned out the pan with steel wool. He cleaned and cleaned, wiping surfaces, emptying and refilling the dishwasher. Then he found some candles in a cabinet, and lit them on the stove top. He made the table perfectly, the skill picked up from a time when he was sent undercover as a butler to gather information on a suspicious ambassador.

"Keep the change." Natasha thanked the delivery man and closed the door. Clint hadn't even noticed him arrive. He stood back to admire his work.

"Ta-da," he said as Natasha walked in. He set the food on the counter and pulled out her chair.

"This is really, really, nice, Clint," she said.

"It's nothing compared to you." He reached into the back of the refrigerator and pulled out an ornate bottle. He set the food on the table, and poured the deep red liquid into both of their glasses.

"I can't drink wine, remember?" Natasha chided him gently.

"Good thing I bought sparkling grape juice instead."

"Is it on the don't-eat-this chart?"

"Nope." He exhaled contentedly, and gestured at the food. "Bon appetit." He let her serve herself first, taking an egg roll and some dumplings as well as steamed white rice and at least three different dishes. He smiled at the thought of the sesame tofu, and smiled more at the fact that Natasha had ordered two so that he could have leftovers for a while.

"To us," said Natasha after they had both served themselves. She raised her glass to clink it against his. "And to all of the crazy shit that we've gotten through. And to the fact that it's over." They both drank the grape juice. It was really good. He watched her eat, left hand never moving from its place on her stomach. After the initial period of wordless eating, he cleared his throat.

"So. Do you want to go first or shall I?" Natasha took a bite of chicken.

"We'll take turns. You'll say something, then I'll go, until we've told each other everything."

"All right." He wasn't sure where to start. "I got shot for the first time while I was still in high school." He took a bite of tofu and rice. Chewed, swallowed. "Wrong place at the wrong time. There was a man, pointing his gun at this old lady, demanding that she hand over her valuables. I threw some stones at him, and he shot me in the arm. We both went to the hospital and the nurse told me that I had hit him squarely in the forehead." Another bite. "And that I had hit his chest dead center. And his groin, spot on. After that I figured out that, under pressure, I could hit anything exactly where I wanted. I tried out for the school archery team, won a scholarship, and somehow ended up at S.H.I.E.L.D." A sip of juice. "The man died of internal bleeding the day after I attacked him," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I killed him, and I hadn't even taken the SATs yet."

"My first kill was when I was thirteen. I was walking alone at night in St. Petersburg and a man grabbed me. I pulled out my pocket knife and slit his throat as he was unzipping his pants." She took another scoop of rice. "It was exhilarating. When the police came, and they told me that I had done a good job and that the dead man was wanted for raping other girls around the country. I knew that I wanted to kill people after that. I probably should have gone to med school in Moscow or something." She sighed, but he could see that she had enjoyed her career choice. "Your turn."

"Okay. Before you, I'd never actually had a relationship before. You were my first friend. The only person I'd ever cared about was my mother, and my dad accidentally killed her when I was in grade school. I never connected to anyone, never dated, nothing."

"Remember when I said I was raped a few times?"

"Yeah. It broke my heart. 'S a good thing I'm not Bruce, or I'd have wrecked half of New York after that."

"Well, it was a lot more than a few times. They had me for about three months, pulling out my fingernails and pouring boiling salt water in my wounds until I told them some information. And every night, a group of them would come into my cell, and they'd be there for hours, until everyone got a turn. They would gamble for the first go. I'd hear them say things like 'You won the card game earlier, so you get to take her first' and 'You owe me a favor, I get to go first'. They would watch each other, shouting obscene things and telling me how to please them."

"How the hell did you get away?" Clint was clutching his fork, wishing he could drive it into the necks of every man who did- that thing- to her.

"They finally realized that they had the wrong spy. They let me go, but I came back around four in the morning the next day. I killed the two men on patrol, and hung them from a tree. Then I ran like hell. The higher ups sent me to lead a team of GIs and we gutted them all before they could do anything else. Stupid insurgents. The best part was when they recognized me right before I shot them." She took one last bite, and sat back in her chair, full and warm. "That's everything."

"I have one last thing." He took a deep breath. "My father...he...drank a lot, and he would attack me. It started when I was about three and I knocked over a lamp. He beat me with the cord. Those prong thingies hurt like hell, and I still have to buy everything battery-operated. In first grade, I got a bad grade in spelling, and he knocked out three of my teeth. Once, he locked me in the trunk of the car for two days." He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. "He threw beer bottles at me. I walked around with glass under my skin for years." He paused, and then went on. "He whipped me until most of the skin on my back fell off. I put on a shirt and went to school the next day. In seventh grade I got caught stealing makeup from a girl in my class to cover the scars." He took a deep breath.

"He killed my mother."

"Shit."

"I saw the clothes, and it finally hit me that it was my turn to be a father, and I just cracked."

"Shit."

"Sorry about that. But I think it sunk in, and it won't happen again."

"I can't imagine..."

"Yes you can." Clint blinked sadly at her. "We both can imagine everything bad that could possibly happen to someone."

"But you know what, Clint? We're not going to let anything happen to our baby, okay?"

"No."

"And you are nothing like your father."


End file.
